Journalist Justin Giovannetti Lamothe crosses La Belle Province to discover the origins of Québec’s most beloved export, poutine, in this new book of culinary history. The origins of this humble dish are muddied; as Clement Prince, a historian of sorts at a tourism centre in Bécancour, a city on the south shore of the St. Lawrence River, notes, “every small roadside casse-croûte [diner or snack bar] around here claims they were first.”

Thus begins a culinary tour of Quebec (and farther west) that features a colourful cast of characters, including the aforementioned Prince, from the hamlets and towns that dot the landscape of our country. In his quest, Lamothe is accompanied by his father, and in the process he discovers a great deal about the life and history of his parent.

Lamothe explores the emergence of poutine during Quebec’s Quiet Revolution, a period of energetic social, economic, and political change in the 1960s that saw the emergence of a new French-Canadian nationalism and the institution of a modern, secular, French-speaking state. Though deeply proud of their culture, Quebecers were enthralled by everything American, and this love affair was often expressed through food. Fast food could be found nearly everywhere by this time, and the working class, with good jobs and paycheques to afford dining out, devoured hot dogs, hamburgers, and fries. Modern conveniences, like “a Buick in your driveway, a bungalow for a home and a box of Kellogg’s in the kitchen,” became aspirational. Poutine bridged the old and new worlds: familiar ingredients that brought comfort combined with ease and efficiency of preparation.

The book also examines the cultural roots of Lamothe and his father, and the generational identities within a family that mirror the larger changes in the province. Laurent Lamothe reminisces over his first taste of poutine (“Of course I remember my first.”) from a chip wagon at a stock-car race in central Quebec. His son’s first taste of the dish was on a cold winter night in Montreal; both experiences describe “youthful indiscretion, blossoming friendship and a helping of culinary bacchanalia.” For a generation of Quebecers, poutine became a rite of passage.

Few foods express Canada’s culinary identity as much as poutine. Yet it is still less iconic than apple pie is for Americans, despite emerging from Montreal and being widely adopted on menus across the country as a delicious, easy, and accessible dish. (Tarte au sucre, from which many speculate butter tarts evolved, and tourtière, both well-known, traditional French-Canadian dishes, have not had the same impact on Canada’s culinary landscape and Canadians’ eating habits.) Like its origin, the fine points and variations of poutine are debated (“if the cheese is melting all over your fork as you eat it, it’s bad poutine”). Visit r/poutine on Reddit for a voracious debate (including which cut of potatoes is best to use in the dish, the glossiness of the “sauce,” and, of course, many opinions about cheese curds).

The book is beautifully written: a love letter to the history of La Belle Province and francophone pride, and a celebration of the storytellers Giovannetti Lamothe and his father encountered on their journey. It’s also a lovely family history. One cannot help but be deeply appreciative of these stories and the record of this fascinating culinary history; it holds a broad appeal to students of foodways and readers curious about their favourite dish.